Se edhwierft
by Ohka Breynekai
Summary: While investigating a report about rogue sorcerers in an old Roman fortress, Arthur and Merlin become trapped in a chamber lined with mysterious rune stones. The next day, Arthur wakes up just in time to see Merlin kidnapped by the sorcerers... only, it seems that Merlin is in his body, and Arthur is in Merlin's.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur crept through the ruins, Excalibur poised for an attack. He could hear his manservant, Merlin, following just as warily – if not just as quietly – a few paces behind him. Every few seconds, he caught glimpses of his knights performing the same search across the courtyard.

It had been two days since word had reached Camelot of a band of rogue sorcerers hiding in these ruins. Arthur saw three possible outcomes of their search: the trespassers knew their location had been discovered and would be long departed; he and his knights would sneak upon them unawares; or they lay in wait even now, having lured the king into a trap. He prepared himself for every outcome.

"You know," Merlin whispered. "Swords don't work on sorcerers. They can toss you through the air just by looking at you."

"Your point, Merlin?" Arthur hissed back.

"I just don't know what you lot are planning to do if you find any."

"_Mer_lin, I've faced far more sorcerers than you will in your entire life. I've been hunting them down since I was a boy. I think I know what I'm doing."

At that moment, the floor began to crumble beneath their feet. Arthur felt it giving way and quickly leaped to the side, managing to grasp onto a flagstone as the floor fell away into darkness. To his side, he could see Merlin, dangling from a tree root.

"You were saying?" the scrawny man yelled, feet scrabbling for a hold. Leave it to Merlin to be cheeky when they were literally about to fall to their deaths.

Of course, Arthur could never let him have the last word. "It's a ruin, Merlin! Not the work of sorcerers!"

"Oh, that's what you think!"

"What would you possibly know about it?"

"Just a feeling!"

"You and your _bloody-_"

The flagstone shifted under Arthur's grasp, shutting up both king and manservant. Arthur could see the nearest knights scrambling over the rubble, but he knew they would not be in time. Even if they were, the ground here was not stable. He yelled for them to stay back.

Merlin was dangling limply now, eyes locked on his king. Arthur could see the root slipping inch by inch through Merlin's grasp. He started to yell at the idiot to climb, but it was then that the flagstone finally gave way, and Arthur was plunged into darkness.

* * *

Sore limbs and a throat full of dust woke the king sometime later. Groaning, he sat up and looked around. He was in a small chamber, lit by a burning fire, littered with stones and rotting pieces of wood. At one end of the room, over a particularly tall pile of rubble, was a steeply slanted entrance – the only way in and out of the room, apparently.

He coughed again, blowing dust into the air. A water skin was handed to him, by none other than Merlin. His gaze was intense, but besides a few tears in his clothes, some already scabbing scratches, and a healthy coat of dirt, the manservant seemed unharmed. Arthur tried to speak to him, but his mouth was too dry. He rinsed the dirt out and took one deep swallow.

"What happened?" Arthur croaked.

Merlin looked away, toward the fire, shaking his head. "Well, the floor gave way. You fell, I jumped after you, and we were both dumped here. Oh!" From behind the stone he was sitting on, Merlin produced Excalibur and offered it to his king. "Can't lose this."

"You… _jumped_ after me."

The black-headed man shrugged. "More or less."

Arthur frowned, but he was secretly pleased. As useless as Merlin was in a crisis, it was better than being alone. "Idiot," he muttered.

Merlin nodded absently, and his attention drifted upwards. Arthur followed his gaze. There, carved into the walls, were great runes, completely illegible to Arthur. While the rest of the castle was crumbling with decay, these stones seemed strangely untouched by time; Arthur shivered at the thought that perhaps magic was keeping them.

The manservant stood, running his hands along the inscriptions. Arthur nearly snapped at him to stop – it would be just like Merlin to somehow trigger an ancient curse, just because he couldn't resist _touching _it. But Merlin's next words stopped his own at his teeth:

"It's not the Old Religion…" He mumbled, as though he were speaking to himself. With the size of the room, though, it was impossible for Arthur not to hear. "More like… Druidic? Maybe something else…"

"How would _you_ know what the Old Religion looks like, _Mer_lin?" Arthur drawled, wanting more to take out his slowly mounting anxiety than simply to poke fun at the boy. Really, though, Merlin was so terrified by magic… Arthur's frown deepened. Suddenly he was thinking about all of the times Merlin seemed more knowledgeable about magic than he should have been – at the cave of the Disir when they were trying to save Mordred; in the shrine where Elyan had been possessed. Both times Arthur had not listened to Merlin, and both times it had been a mistake. Was it Merlin's so-called 'feelings'? The same that let Merlin somehow think that the world was 'vibrating' about him?

Merlin looked over to Arthur, like he was surprised. "Gaius," he said simply and went back to studying the ruins.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Of course, Gaius. The physician had once been a sorcerer, after all, and while he no longer practiced magic, it was not uncommon for the court to approach him to decipher certain dangerous or potentially dangerous artifacts. It was no small wonder that some of that would rub off on an unnaturally curious boy like Merlin.

"Well, can you make any of it out?"

Merlin shook his head, one hand lingering on a particular block.

"Get away from it, then. We don't want to activate it, or whatever it is one does to enchantments."

Once he had drawn Merlin away from the walls, Arthur pushed to his feet and examined the chamber. He first tried to climb out the way they came. Getting over the pile of rubble was hard enough, and when he finally made it to the opening, he discovered it was too slick to scale just as a particularly large flagstone came crashing down upon him. If not for Merlin pulling him out of the way, Arthur would have been crushed.

Coughing, they looked up into each other's eyes. The understanding was immediate. That was no way out.

Arthur spent the next hour prying his sword against the walls, trying to find another hidden doorway, _anything_. Merlin, as usual, did nothing more than sit and stare into space, seeming altogether too calm for the situation that they had been presented. Every few minutes, he fed the fire another piece of rotten wood, which quickly disintegrated in the flames. It would not be long before their supply was gone. As obvious as that was, Merlin seemed to have no qualms about stacking the wood high.

Arthur would probably have to take back what he thought earlier, about Merlin in a crisis. Even if he was useless and lazy and made extremely poor decisions, at least he did not panic.

"You could try to help, you know!" he called out at one point.

"I am helping!" Merlin called back. "Thinking. Waiting. Saving my strength."

"You call that helping?"

"Just you wait. You'll be completely useless by the time we get out of here."

"Right. Be sure to tell me when you divine our escape."

After a while, Arthur's arms grew weary. His whole body ached from the fall, and his stomach grumbled. Reluctantly, he propped Excalibur – even now without a scratch! – against the wall and sat down on a stone near Merlin. "I'll keep looking in the morning," he explained.

"Of course," Merlin replied. The king could not tell if he was being sarcastic or not, and it made him scowl.

"Tell me, what great progress have you made? Did the worms tell you anything?"

"Don't be silly, sire. There aren't any worms in here." That earned him a clip to the head. Rubbing the new bump, grinning sheepishly, Merlin continued. "I think you're right. I think things will look better in the morning."

The fire chose then to extinguish, leaving them in total darkness.

"Yes," Arthur sneered. "Looking better already."

* * *

Arthur was not sure if he would be able to fall asleep. The chamber was dark as pitch, stale, and he knew how small it was. Not to mention the fact that the walls were lined with mysterious ruins that may or may not be dangerous. Plus, every half an hour or so, more rubble would fall in, loudly, through the hole. But then, after some time, he heard Merlin's snore rising softly into the dust-laden air. Even that, the sound of another human being, was enough to bring the king comfort, and he fell into unconsciousness.

His dreams were confusing. He imagined a heaviness in his body, soft blue lights, primordial voices speaking. He thought he saw Merlin's face, staring down at him in concern, and then the voices of old were coming from the manservant's mouth, and from his own. He felt his body fall away, and for a long while he experienced nothingness in its purest form.

Then, one of the walls of the chamber ground to the side, flooding the room with torchlight. Arthur realized this was the waking world. He held an arm up to shield his eyes, looking in the shadowed figures for the faces of his knights. Instead, his eyes adjusted to the visages of strangers. They held their hands out, their eyes flashed yellow, and with a yelled word, Arthur was thrown into the opposite wall. He knew from the thump nearby that Merlin had been thrown, too.

Obviously, his third prediction had come to pass. This was all a trap.

Arthur fumbled at his side for his blade, but his fingers grasped at thin air. In fact, he was not wearing his armor at all. And… that wasn't his arm?

The king did not have long to ponder this, because his wrists were being roughly tied behind his back, and he was shoved forward into the hallway. He struggled, but his strength had fled him. Merlin was right – damn him for it! Arthur had worn himself out, and now he could not defend them. He could do little more than growl and glare at his captors.

After several long minutes, Arthur was shoved into the sunlight of an old garden, long since overgrown with weeds in places and beaten down in others. He was forced to his knees. At last he could look at his captors.

Arthur blinked to clear his vision. Several persons came into focus. Four were shrouded with rough brown cloaks, hiding everything about themselves other than their faces. Three of these figures were men, but there was also a female, lithe, with orange hair cut at the length of her chin. Even though she looked physically weak, there was a sharp gleam in her eye. They were likely all sorcerers.

And there –

Arthur's mind froze. Across the garden, forced to his knees on the ground, staring back in terror, was none other than Arthur Pendragon.

_What?_

The king looked down at himself as well as he could. Brown pants, red shirt under brown jacket, all hanging on a skinny frame. His eyes rose again to the figure across the courtyard, who was staring at him in earnest. _Arthur_, it mouthed.

_Merlin?_ he mouthed back. Arthur's body gave two sharp nods, and that was the end of their communication, for at that moment one of the men grabbed the blonde hair of Arthur's head and jerked the face up.

Arthur could do nothing but stare, mind racing to comprehend what was happening. _That's Merlin. In _my_ body. And I'm in his! How?_

Merlin meanwhile handed his captor an impressive, cool glare, his jaw hard. If it were any other time, Arthur would have verbally offered his approval. Certainly, leave it to Merlin to never panic, no matter what senseless situation they landed themselves in.

"Arthur Pendragon," the sorcerer sneered, running a dagger over Merlin's throat. Rather, over Arthur's throat. He gulped at the thought. "King of Camelot. Here we are."

"Who are you?" Merlin spat. "What are you doing in Camelot?"

The sorcerer leaned close. "Looking for you, lovie. You've got an excellent price on your head. How lucky we were to have you fall into our snare. You walked right into it."

Merlin's eyes flicked to Arthur's, easily communicating an 'I told you it was a trap, you cabbagehead'. Arthur narrowed his eyes in return, just as smoothly telling Merlin to, 'Shut up'.

One of his comrades whispered something in the aggressor's ear. He nodded and returned his attention to Merlin. "Love to sit here and chat, but we really must be off." The man placed a hand on Merlin's forehead, muttered something, and his eyes flashed gold. Merlin's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the king's body dropped to the ground, unconscious.

"What did you do to him?" Arthur demanded, and he was shocked to hear the rough treble of his manservant's voice resounding in his head. He shook off the surprise and started going through his assets and potential escape routes. He did not have his strength, he was bound, Merlin was unconscious, Excalibur was nowhere to be seen.

Nothing.

The sorcerers all looked to him, as though they had forgotten he was there. The woman grinned, chuckling, and sauntered to him. She ran a long nail along the edge of Arthur's jaw, causing shivers to climb his back. He jerked his face away and glared at her. It only increased her amusement.

"What should we do with the whelp?"

"Leave him," the first man grunted, hefting the king's unconscious body over his shoulder. "We've got enough to deal with."

"'Sides, he can be our messenger," said the second man, the whisperer.

And that was how it was decided that Arthur would be hit on the side of the head, and while he lay dazed and bleeding on the ground, hands still roped behind his back, a hastily written note would be shoved into the inside of his coat. Without the strength to move and barely the strength to think, Arthur could only watch helplessly as the criminals carted Merlin away, into the woods, and quickly out of sight.

As soon as he was able to, Arthur wobbled to his feet. He felt the blood dribbling thickly down the side of his face, and his head still rung from the impact. He could hardly tell up from down – but he could see that the sorcerers were long gone, with his body and his friend. It was all he could do to place one foot in front of the other. In seconds, he tripped and fell to the ground again, knocking his chin against the dirt.

"Damn," he whispered. "Hell." Tears collected in his eyes and cut paths through the dirt on his face. He curled in on himself, thankful in the bitterest sense that he was alone, so no one would see him cry.

He had to cut his arms free. That was his priority now. If he could not even help himself, he would not be able to help Merlin.

He thought of Excalibur, conspicuously missing from the garden. It must have been left behind in the first chamber. That was a relief, if a small one. He could not stand the thought of those sorcerers' hands begriming it; it made him feel physically ill. Again, he pushed to his feet, waited for the wooziness to pass, and carefully walked back inside.

It was deep black within the passageway, only feet from the garden, as though the ruins absorbed the light of day. How was he ever supposed to find his way? If only he had a torch – something!

Yet, as soon as despair began to take his mind, a pale blue light, an orb no bigger than his fist, appeared beside him and drifted steadily into the passageway. It stopped a few feet from Arthur, as though waiting on him to follow.

Arthur glanced about himself, looking for the source. Then he looked back towards the light, hanging simply in the air. It was… the same. This was the same light that had helped him in the cave during his search for the Mortaeus flower. When he looked at it, he felt no ill intent, nothing but warmth and light. It would lead him to his goal. He just _knew_.

Arthur barked a laugh. Not only was he stuck in Merlin's body, but now he was even having 'feelings'. Maybe he would finally understand just what was going on in his manservant's head. Not that he would ever admit experiencing any of this. No, he would be sure to tell Merlin just how big and clumsy his feet really were and how useless his weak body was during a fight…

With these thoughts, Arthur staggered after the light, which moved at just the pace he needed it to. Soon, he arrived at the chamber and was relieved to see that the bandits had left the door ajar. As he stepped inside, the light floated to the ceiling to better illuminate the entire room. It revealed again the strange ruins carved on the walls, etched black in the pale blue light. The ruins felt heavy, ominous, like they were tugging at Arthur's very heart –

He shook his head. What was going on? Was this the result of being in Merlin's head? Gods, no wonder the boy was so distracted.

Arthur found the sword quickly enough, stashed carefully between two large stones. He wondered when it had been taken from his side, or if Merlin had hidden it just as the sorcerers found them. More likely, it had fallen off at some point during the night. They hadn't had an exactly restful sleep.

Sitting on a piece of rubble, Arthur carefully kicked the sword into the open. It took several minutes of painstaking maneuvering, but eventually he had the sword propped so that he could run the rope along the edge of the blade. Excalibur was so sharp that it took little effort, and his hands were free in seconds. His shoulders cried out at the release; blood pumped into his hands. He massaged them to help the circulation.

Once the pain faded, he grabbed Excalibur… and dropped it again. Just now – had the sword sent a jolt up his arm? Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt and lifted the blade into the air, scrutinizing every inch of it. There was no denying it. The sword was _vibrating_, sending pulse after pulse of energy up his arm. It was not painful, but it was strange, and it definitely felt _powerful_.

Several pieces fell into place. First, his sword was magic. It was not so big a surprise; he had always known his blade was no ordinary blade, seeing as how it reacted in Arthur's hand, choosing him when he pulled it from the stone. Normal swords did not choose anything, like a sentient being would. Further, it was stronger than any blade in existence, and it did not need to be sharpened. No, he had had this knowledge for some time. It was simply new to feel the magic in his hand.

That was his second, more pressing realization. _Merlin_ could feel _magic_. It explained everything! Why he was so skittish around anything magical, why he could sense that a place was 'sacred' while no one else could, why he could feel danger lurking around otherwise mundane seeming corners. He had a sixth sense for it!

Arthur laughed, in Merin's voice. The idiot! Did he even know that's what it was? That meant… His grin fell. That meant he would actually have to start listening to Merlin when the manservant said they were in danger. He would have to admit that Merlin was right all along.

At least Merlin had some talent now, besides being a clumsy, mysterious, wise fool.

Satisfied at the new information and at having his sword again, Arthur picked his way back through the tunnel, following the orb of light until it evaporated in the garden. He wondered where it might have come from and why it was helping him. It could not have been a will-o'-the-wisp, could it? Some other sort of spectral, glowing swamp gas?

Outside again in the garden, Arthur remembered that he'd been given a message. Dropping the sword, he quickly pulled the paper from Merlin's jacket and unfolded it, absently noting how long and thin Merlin's pale fingers were – didn't he eat?

_To Whoever it concerns,_

_We have your king. Don't expect to get him back, unless you can pay the price. _

_We're not talking gold, neither. I'm sure our master will contact you soon._

_Until then,_

_have fun imagining his screams._

Arthur's stomach dropped. Just fantastic. He was being held for ransom, or sold for a price on whichever black market dealt in captured royals. And he would probably be tortured for information about Camelot.

Crumpling the paper in his hand, Arthur glowered at the ruins about him. This was not right. _He_ should have been the one captured, not Merlin. He had been trained for this kind of thing. Merlin was innocent. Not only would they hurt him, but he would unintentionally hurt Camelot if he betrayed any of the vast knowledge of the citadel that Arthur knew he was privy to. Not only that, but this note told them nothing about the captors, only that they were working for someone who wanted Arthur's head. That could have been anyone! Were they supposed to be content to wait for this 'master' to contact them with more information?

Arthur growled in frustration and shoved the paper into his jacket before he accidentally tore it in half. There was nothing he could do now. He needed to find the knights, get back to Camelot, and let Guinevere and the council know the situation.

He could not tell them about the enchantment, he decided. If somehow that information were to be leaked to the enemy, there was no telling what they would do to Merlin. No, it was best kept a secret for now. He would simply have to… act like Merlin… until he recovered his real body.

How hard could that be?

* * *

_**Look forward to Chapter Two next Friday (Feb 14).**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thank you everyone for your reviews and alerts! I haven't posted any writing on this site in six years, so I forgot how wonderful it is to receive your feedback! Hugs, all around!  
_**

**_This is probably a good time to tell you more about the story. First, the title, "Se edhwierft" (or "edhwyrft") is Old English for "the return, esp. to a condition". A good example that the Bosworth-Toller Anglo-Saxon Dictionary gives comes from_ Beowulf:**

Þá þǽr sóna wearð edhwyrft eorlum siððan inne fealh Grendles módor

there was a return to the old state of things for the men after Grendel's mother had forced her way in

_**I'll leave the rest to you. As for the story itself - it will be entirely from Arthur's POV. It will also be a lot more serious than other body-swap fics that I've read here, just because I think the situation lends itself to so much distress. To increase it, I've removed Merlin from the picture. Tee-hee~ **_

**_Now, much of this chapter takes place in Arthur's head, something I try to avoid doing in my writing - not that I don't enjoy reading characters' thoughts, but it's just not my style. However, since Arthur's trying to adapt to being in Merlin's body and doesn't really have anyone to talk to about it, there's really no way to show it through action or dialogue. So, we have lots of thoughtful interruptions from our king, and not a lot actually happens. _**

**_But that's enough of an author's note. Onward!_**

* * *

Not knowing where else to go, short of returning to Camelot – a journey he did not want to make injured and on foot – Arthur returned to their most recent camp. It was on the far side of the ruins, and so Arthur spent half an hour trekking there through the grass.

As he did, the displaced king was bombarded with sensory information. At first it was little more than a niggling at the edge of his faculties, much like the oppressive aura he had picked up on in the chamber. The more attention he paid this sixth sense, however, the more difficult it was to ignore it. Everything, absolutely everything, seemed to be humming with energy. Soon, every step he placed on the earth filled his mind with images of a vast, interconnected system, in which the tree roots dug deep into the soil, hungry for nutrients, and in which animals and insects burrowed to make their homes. And far, far below was a great, roaring, rushing force that radiated life outward to everything that walked on the land. The earth here felt huge, and he felt so small…

Arthur noticed he had forgotten to breathe and that his feet had stopped moving. He shook off the awe, resisted the urge to walk barefoot through the grass, and concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other.

A conversation haunted him as he walked, from when he and Merlin had been waiting outside the cave of the Disir. Arthur had asked how Merlin knew the place was sacred. Merlin replied that it was obvious. When the king pushed for more information, Merlin's eyes adopted a far-off look. He said:

_Everything here… is so full of life. Every tree, every leaf… every insect. It's as if the world is vibrating. As if everything here is much more than itself._

Arthur had been dubious, maybe even a bit amused, at the time.

Now that he was experiencing it for himself… He truly wondered how Merlin accomplished anything, when all of _this_, all of the world, was vying for his attention.

"Just what are you, Merlin?" he muttered.

The wind swept through his clothes; it blew pollen and grass seeds about in the air, each and every one harboring a great potential for life. And there, on the opposite hill, sat the camp. The horses were mulling about, as were several of the knights, guarding the supplies while the others, Arthur presumed, were out looking for him. It so happened that Leon and Gwaine, at the head of a small party, were returning to the camp at that same moment from another direction. Arthur raised a weary arm, hoping someone would see.

Leon took the bait. With a cry, he closed the distance between their steeds, leaped into his saddle, and drove his horse toward Arthur. He pulled up alongside the king, appearing haggard, hot, and work-weary. "Merlin! Where's Arthur?"

Arthur blinked at Leon for several long seconds, tempted to shout, 'I'm right here!' Instead, wordlessly, he pulled the note from his jacket and offered it to the knight.

Leon's eyes scanned the words. They grew wide with horror. "Which way did they go?"

Arthur swallowed to wet his throat, nervous that his voice would immediately betray Merlin. He raised an arm and pointed. "North," he said.

Leon nodded. Arthur could see plans being formed behind his eyes. He offered a hand to Arthur and pulled the now-light man onto the saddle. "I'll gather the men. Don't worry, Merlin," he said, smiling his assurance. "We'll find him. Hyah!"

His first-in-command deposited him at the camp, ordering another knight – a fresh recruit called Deyn – to care for his wounds. Gwaine promptly shoved this knight aside and took over. Leon, seeing this, had Deyn join him in gathering the remainder of the knights from the ruins.

Gwaine's face as he cleaned the wound to Merlin's head was more serious than Arthur had ever seen it. "I'll find the bastards who did this to you, Merlin. I swear it."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Gwaine?" He understood then - this shadowed expression was one Merlin alone would be privy to. Arthur knew this knight and Merlin were close, that Gwaine in fact considered Merlin his best friend, and not for the first time, he wondered what had happened between the two to form such a bond. For obviously Gwaine cared more about seeking revenge for the harms done to his friend than he did finding the lost king.

The mead-loving knight quickly forced a smile. "Okay, okay, I won't _kill_ them. I'll just bash their faces in until they cry for their mothers. I'm not so cold-hearted, mate."

Arthur averted his eyes, feeling as though he were invading a private moment. He knew there would be no end to these private moments, as long as he was housed in another man's body, but he could not force himself to be comfortable with it. As king, it was rare that any man, even his closest knights, lowered their guard long enough to be intimate. Not that Gwaine cared if Arthur was the king or not. Arthur had won the man's loyalty, due in large part to Merlin's own faith in him and through the merits of his actions since, but Arthur had never done enough to have Gwaine's trust on a personal level.

"We should concentrate on finding Arthur," he murmured.

At these words, Gwaine's smile grew genuine and soft. He clapped Arthur on the shoulder. "Of course. We'll find the princess. In the meantime, I think I should take you back to Camelot."

"What? No, you should be looking for him. He needs every knight we can spare. I'll go to Camelot myself."

Arthur made to stand up, to go to his horse. Gwaine effortlessly held him in place. "Easy there. You can hardly walk."

"I'm fine, Gwaine. I'm…" A wave of nausea intruded, and the world began to turn on its side. He was only barely aware of Gwaine lifting him into his arms and positioning him on a horse.

"Of course you are, mate," the knight whispered fondly.

* * *

Arthur groaned and opened his eyes. He saw a simple plaster ceiling overhead, surrounded by white plaster walls, all gently lit by the morning sun. Through a single window, he could hear the familiar noises of the lower town, busy at market. The bed he lay on was narrow and hard and the blankets of scratchy wool. The only other details he could see of this room were a wardrobe and table to his left and a door straight ahead.

This was Merlin's room.

The details rushed back, and Arthur quickly sat up, immediately having to catch himself on his arms when the world began to spin. Determined, he pushed through the vertigo, climbed out of bed, and walked carefully toward the door. He opened it and gingerly stepped down the stairs, supporting his weight on the handrail.

What he did not anticipate was a very worried Gaius rushing across the room, lifting one arm over his shoulders, and planting him again on the spare bed.

"What do you think you're doing, Merlin?" the old man chided, already running his fingers over Arthur's body for his vitals.

Arthur tried to pull away and was forced back down. "I have to speak to Guinevere."

"There will be time for your account later. Leon and his men are already scouring the countryside. Unless you have information that will drastically alter their search, I suggest you focus on _healing_. You'll be worthless to Arthur in this state."

"But, Gauis-"

One raised eyebrow was all it took to shut him up. Simmering, Arthur lowered his head and let Gaius finish his examination.

The physician carefully unwrapped a stained bandage from Arthur's head, nodding his approval. He then peeled several poultices from his chest and arms – Arthur winced at the blood, _Merlin's _blood – and discarded them on the table nearby.

Gaius tutted and began to wrap Arthur's head with fresh linen. "You're healing well… but that does not mean you'll be leaving these chambers any sooner than tomorrow, at the very least! Now, sit still while I make you some broth."

Arthur did as he was told, watching Gaius boil part of a chicken in a pot with bitter-smelling herbs. He had the impression that this behavior from Gaius toward Merlin was an old ritual – Merlin wanting to rush back into the fray, even when unable to move. He remembered the Dorocha, and how even then, having just survived a death-blow and still fighting for his life, Merlin had not wanted to leave his side. Was that Merlin's defining character trait, being at Arthur's side? But now, when Merlin needed _him_, Arthur could not be there. The thought was humbling, and Arthur felt smaller and weaker than ever before.

Arthur's gaze wandered down to Merlin's body, and he marveled at how foreign it looked from this angle. He was wearing nothing more than a simple pair of pants, leaving his chest, arms, and feet bare. Arthur realized, too, that he had never seen his manservant less than fully dressed, which was odd, given the number of times Merlin had seen him entirely nude. He had even teased Merlin about this in the past, in the summer months when, on hunting trips, he and his knights would cool off in the crystalline lakes.

_"Afraid of the water, Merlin?"_

_Merlin, reclining in the shade of a tree with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, rolled his eyes. "Of water? Surely it's more afraid of _you_. Do you know how long it's been since any of you bathed?"_

_"As of now, not as long as _you_." The knights were wrestling in the waves at his back, a chorus of shouts, laughter, and splashing. Arthur grinned, caught up in the spirit of play. "What is it then? Afraid we'll see just how puny you really are? I know half of your body weight comes from your clothes."_

_"If you must know, it's that I'm tired of picking leeches off myself. Get plenty of that at home, thank you."_

It was always some excuse, and Arthur never figured out if it was because Merlin was embarrassed, unable to swim, or honestly was afraid of the creatures living in the water.

Merlin's bare feet now dangled on the floor in his vision. They were long, knobby, and pale to the point of translucent. Surreptitiously, he surveyed his arms, turning them over, back and forth, taking in the surprising number of scars. Cuts, scrapes, even a few of what looked like burns. They did not stand out, little more than slender white curves against his already white skin. If Arthur was not this close, he might never have noticed.

His eyes fell then to his bare chest, and there they stopped. Purplish-red, ridged and veined, spreading over his heart was a massive burn scar. It was obviously old, having healed as much as it ever would. It was as though, he didn't know, Merlin had been hit by a bolt of lightning or a blast of dragon's fire or _something_, and lived to tell the tale! How long ago had this happened? Just what had happened? Could it possibly have been from when the Dorocha spirit flew through him? Would that have burned Merlin?

He brushed his fingers over the injury, trying to imagine the pain Merlin must have felt when this happened. Further, Merlin clearly felt the need to hide this from Arthur. From everyone.

He raised his head, only to find Gaius watching him from across the room. Arthur cleared his throat. "I've… made you worry a lot, haven't I, Gaius?"

One eyebrow raised, though not impatiently, the physician heaved a resigned breath and returned to stirring the broth. "I will never stop worrying about you, my boy. But you certainly don't do anything to lessen it."

Neither of them spoke again until Gaius was pressing a bowl of broth into Arthur's hands. "Drink up. And when you're finished, you are going back to bed."

Arthur nodded, grateful for the feeling of the hot liquid over his throat, raw from the ancient chamber's dust and from dehydration.

A thought occurred to him, and he lowered the bowl. "Gaius. When M- When Arthur and I were in the ruins, we fell into a chamber with some ancient runes. You know, on the walls. They looked neither Druidic nor to be in the language of the Old Religion. Do you have any idea what they could have been?"

"You were in an old Roman fortress, correct?" Arthur nodded, glad that his observation was not out of Merlin's character. The physician must have taught Merlin about ancient runes after all. Gaius, rubbing his chin, wandered about the room. "I can't be certain, but they were probably Viking script. If so, then it is ancient magic indeed." Gaius's eyes rolled up to Arthur's suspiciously. "I hope you're not going to tell me you accidently activated these runes, Merlin."

"Of course not!" Arthur proclaimed, though he was in fact wondering the same thing. He could not shake the feeling that these runes and this bizarre enchantment were linked. It would be far too great a coincidence otherwise.

He shuddered under the scrutiny of Gaius's brow. How did Merlin live every day with the terror of the physician's looks? He felt as though the man could see right through him.

"I should hope not. Who knows how we would go about reversing such an old enchantment?"

Stomach sinking - for obviously Gaius would not be able to help them - Arthur busied himself with the broth, eager to return to Merlin's bed if only to escape the physician's all-seeing eye.

When he had drained the last of it, Arthur placed the bowl on the table and staggered back toward Merlin's room. Seeing him leave, Gaius said, "If you grow bored, feel free to help me grind some powders for these poultices. It's a good way to keep the mind from anxiety."

"Of course," Arthur agreed, though he had no intention of grinding anything. He did not know the first thing about poultices, and he was not about to poison his subjects all in his effort to play the role of Merlin.

Although, since it was Merlin, he was surprised more subjects had not been poisoned thus far.

Alone again, Arthur sat on the bed with his back to the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, and he stared out the window. It hurt to think of Merlin. Not only was Merlin imprisoned gods-only-knew-where having gods-only-knew-what done to him, he was the only other person who knew what Arthur was feeling now, and he was leagues away. He missed being able to confess his worries to Merlin, and he missed smothering them in Guinevere's arms. Even if Merlin had a lover – which he surely didn't; Arthur would know – it would feel wrong to turn to her.

That left only Gaius and Gwaine, but they were Merlin's confidants, not Arthur's. Besides, he could not risk this information leaking to anyone. It could have been the only thing keeping Merlin alive, for all Arthur knew.

Merlin really was the only person Arthur could confide in. His absence was like a missing limb.

Normally, Arthur would throw all of his frustration into a training dummy, but that was something Merlin would never do. Merlin probably released his anxiety by grinding powders, picking flowers, or drowning them in the tavern with Gwaine. Maybe he just sat around _feeling_ things with that sixth sense of his. That must have been the case every time Arthur caught him staring at nothing.

There were many things Arthur would ask his manservant when they were reunited. How long had he had this uncanny power? How often and for what reasons had he been hurt so many times in the past? More importantly, why did he feel like he could not share any of this with Arthur? Was it because of how dangerous it was to have any association with magic? Of course, in Arthur's father's time, that was true, but it was not like Merlin was a sorcerer or anything. Arthur could not see anything wrong with being able to sense magic – in fact, it would be an asset to have that power in a group. Now that Arthur could trust Merlin's 'feelings' with confidence, there was no telling how many scrapes they would avoid in the future.

Arthur stood and carefully stepped to the window, throwing it open and letting in the fresh air. The sun felt vibrant against his skin, and he felt instinctively how it was feeding the plants with its energy, and how they in turn were recycling the air that all living things breathed… It was so easy to get lost in this great cycle of energy, a beauty beyond anything Arthur had ever experienced. Who knew that the world was so carefully intertwined? Only Merlin.

And Merlin. He saw this every day and rarely said a word about it. How it must have felt to _feel_ so much and know that no one else could. Was it lonely? Did he pity the rest of them?

The lower city buzzed beneath him, everyone unaware that their king had slipped from their fingers. All was as it should be.

It was all Arthur could do to pull himself away from the air, the sky, the sun. As much as he reveled the feeling of life moving around him, the more he thought about it, the more it scared him. The expanse was vast, and he imagined it would be very easy to leave one's mind and never come back. He closed the window, but the earth continued to tremble mutedly through the castle walls.

He could not escape this. The most he could do was try to ignore it. Was that how Merlin lived, day to day?

Gods, there was so much he did not know about his best friend. The longer he spent in this body, the more his manservant of eight years felt like a stranger. This sixth sense, those old wounds, all bottled away behind a carefree façade. Arthur wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, wake up in his own bed, and close this door he had never wanted to open in the first place. He wondered if Merlin was learning anything new about Arthur, being in his body. It was with guilt that Arthur realized probably not. Owing that Merlin had enough of a break from being tortured to even think about these things.

He sat down again on the bed, scrubbing his hair in frustration. He saw Merlin's night-shirt hanging from the corner of the wardrobe and donned it to hide the scars. He tried to remind himself that Merlin's life – perhaps his own, too – depended on Merlin _not_ being a stranger. If he truly wanted to help Merlin, he needed to bridge the gap between them and take on this role completely. Merlin was certainly trying his hardest as well to play the role of the king.

Arthur started by opening Merlin's wardrobe and shuffling through his belongings. Other than a few spare shirts, a pair of pants, his boots, and a couple of neckerchiefs, he was keeping nothing of interest. In one corner of the room was Merlin's leather rucksack, but upon further inspection it revealed nothing more than a few basic camping and medicinal supplies.

Arthur scowled and cast his gaze over the rest of the room. Surely, in _eight years_, Merlin would have accumulated some personal belongings. Arthur did not pay him so little. But the bedside table had nothing more than a book on herbs, a well-used candleholder, a stick of charcoal, and a mug of water, all of which were probably Gaius's.

Huffing, Arthur carefully lowered to his knees and then stomach to take a look under the bed. And… yet again, nothing, other than a pair of used socks.

As he pressed his hands onto the floor on either side of him, to push himself up, he felt the wooden floorboard give under his right hand. He readjusted his body into a sitting position and carefully examined the plank in question. It was well-hidden, but the signs of removal and replacement, likely over a period of years, were unmistakable. The edges were worn, and where Merlin's fingers had grasped one side was smoother than the rest of the board.

Curious now – why would Merlin have a secret panel? – Arthur pried the board off and examined the contents inside.

At first, he was slightly disappointed. There was a well-used, leather-bound book, with pieces of paper crammed between its pages. Next to it sat a carved wooden dragon, the like of which he might have bought for a single silver in the lower town. Finally, Arthur saw the handle of a long staff that had been stashed beneath the length of the floor. Raising a brow skeptically, Arthur was almost ready to replace the board. It was only the knowledge that Merlin found these objects important enough to hide in the floor that made Arthur examine them more closely.

He plucked up the dragon, first, since it was the easiest to handle. He examined it from every angle, but neither his eyes nor Merlin's sixth sense could pick up anything from it. It was just a figurine. Perhaps it had some sentimental value, and Merlin simply did not want to lose it. Shrugging, Arthur placed it on the bedside table and continued his search.

Next, Arthur grabbed the book, careful not to dump its loose leaves into the floor. There was no apparent title, or if there was, it had long since been worn away. Arthur placed it on the floor and gently opened it.

The first detail Arthur noticed was that the book – sans the prolific scribbles in Merlin's hand – was written entirely in the language of the Old Religion. That along with the very obvious illustrations of persons and creatures casting enchantments left no doubt in Arthur's mind that this was a book of magic. A spellbook.

Arthur's blood ran cold. Staring blankly at the book, he fell backward into the bed, willing the truth to hide itself again. But there was more than enough proof, and it would not rescind itself.

Merlin was a sorcerer.

His heart thumped in his chest. For how long? Years, going by the shape of the floorboard. To what ends? Who else knew? He stared at his hands – _Merlin's_ hands – trying to imagine them alight with fire, flinging innocent persons through the air with no more than a simple word. The same hands that every day prepared his meals, polished his armor, and cleaned his chambers.

"No," Arthur whispered, shaking his head. He reached down for the last object, the spear, but stopped when he felt its energy even before his fingers touched it. The magic it possessed was strong and wild, clearly a dangerous weapon in even well-meaning hands.

He shuddered, pulling his hand back, and realized that Merlin's sixth sense was not that at all. Merlin could sense magic because he was its practitioner! That meant… whether Arthur had intended it or not, he had been using magic since the moment he entered Merlin's body.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

There was a knock at the door. Panic flurried about his heart. Arthur quickly replaced the book and dragon, and he was just lowering the floorboard when the door opened. He looked to Gaius with wide, terrified eyes.

Gaius glanced between the floorboard and Arthur and shook his head. "You're lucky it was only me," he muttered, helping Arthur to his feet and replacing him in his bed. "One would think after all this time, you'd be better at hiding it."

Gaius knew. Gods, Gaius knew. Not only that, he kept it a secret and _encouraged_ it.

Suddenly, all of the times Arthur barged into Merlin's room to find him squatting on the floor with a sheepish grin across his face, spouting nonsense about termites or having dropped a sewing needle, flew through his mind. So it had been happening right in front of him all this time. Arthur had been duped, again, by the people he thought closest to him. Just as he had been with Morgana. With Agravaine.

He gagged, and Gaius was just in time with the chamber pot when Arthur emptied his stomach of the broth he had drunk not even an hour earlier.

"Gaius," he croaked, on the verge of tears. The physician placed the water goblet to his lips, leaving Arthur no choice but to comply and rinse his mouth. When Arthur finished, Gaius slowly lowered himself onto the end of the bed. He patted Arthur hands, which were sitting limply in his lap.

"I know you're worried about Arthur, but you forget, he's strong and resourceful. We will find him. You must not overexert yourself."

"He's been captured by _sorcerers_," Arthur snarled bitterly.

Gaius's eyes widened; it seemed no one had put the two incidents – the sorcerers at the ruins and the king's capture – together yet. "Then it is that much more important that _you_ heal." He pulled a vial from a fold of his robes. "I brought a draught to help you sleep, but it looks like I should give you one for nausea as well." He set this vial on Merlin's bedside table and left to retrieve the other. Arthur stopped him by grabbing the sleeve of his robe.

He wanted to ask 'why'. He wanted to ask everything, something, anything. But the bitter feeling of betrayal welled inside of him, rendering his speech useless, and he dropped the sleeve. "It's nothing," he muttered.

Arthur waited silently while Gaius retrieved another draught. The physician would only leave, however, after watching Arthur down every drop of the nasty potion. He could feel its relieving effects immediately, but it made him no less happy about being cared for by a _traitor_. Gaius ordered 'Merlin' to join him for supper that evening and left at last.

Arthur could think of little more than how he would arrest them both, as soon as he had his body and his authority back. Merlin's torment now would be nothing compared to when he was back in Camelot.

* * *

**_Next update: Saturday, Feb. 22_**


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur curled at the end of the bed, staring blankly through the window. He pointedly ignored the thrumming of the earth, now disgusted by it – rather, disgusted by the body he was in that could feel it. It was not natural. When Arthur focused on his own life force, looking at it the same way as he had the ground, he found a bright, golden well of energy, bubbling hotly at the center of his being. Even then, somehow he knew it was weaker than it should be. It longed to overflow and fill every part of the body, to push against the frame and writhe under the skin and be expelled into the air. Arthur tore his attention from it, as though stung.

He could not believe Merlin had done this to himself, corrupted himself to such an extent that he literally could not stop the magic flowing through his veins. And what for? Was he after the throne? If so, why had he not grabbed it long before? He had been at Arthur's side for years; surely he had had more than enough opportunities. It was with no small amount of horror that Arthur recounted those opportunities, and he soon had to staunch the memories or risk being sick again.

Yet as the sun climbed the sky, Arthur's disgust and betrayal was gradually eaten away by fear. He could feel the magic at his core, now that he knew where to look, getting stronger every minute. As it grew, so too did his awareness of the earth's energy, as one reached for the other. The warnings his father had drilled into him about magic his entire life rang in his head: how magic was intoxicating and easy to become addicted to; even using it once was dangerous; how it corrupted wholly, completely altering the user. Magic was evil, and so was any person foolish enough to use it.

Now, Arthur could feel the magic inside of him. He had nearly been lulled into a feeling of security by it, earlier, when it coaxed him with images of life and birth. He would need to constantly be on his guard. He must never use it, or it would be the end for his soul. It would convince him that magic was safe, that magic was good, and Camelot would fall.

He pulled at his hair, groaning in his frustration. How was he supposed to ignore _this_? It took all of his energy just to reign in Merlin's six sense, to block off the magic from whatever it was reaching towards in the earth. Further, he had no idea of how long he would be stuck in Merlin's body. It could be days, weeks – and dare he think it, if they could not retrieve his body – perhaps the rest of his life. He needed to find a way to cleanse it of its magic, before it was too late for him.

Arthur curled up on his side, despair washing through him. The hours passed, the sun crested the sky and began to sink, and soon, he could think of nothing other than the energy beating in his head in time with his heart. It longed to be released, dancing at his fingertips and behind his eyes. He grabbed his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to focus on simply breathing. He must not let it out!

It was like this that Gaius found him that evening. The physician rushed to his side, prying away his arms, sternly speaking to him… Arthur could hear nothing but the roar of energy, and his vision was tinted with gold.

Gaius grabbed the sleeping tonic from the bedside table and forced it down Arthur's throat. The magic was the only part of him to be affected by it; it receded gently, like waves from the beach. Arthur's hearing and vision returned to him, and his thoughts became coherent. Blearily, he blinked up at Gaius, all thoughts of 'traitor' forgotten for the moment in favor of a familiar face.

The physician pulled Arthur from the bed, pushed him down the stairs into the main chambers, and dropped him on the bench at the table, where two bowls of a thin stew sat throwing steam into the air. Sitting across from the younger man, Gaius moved the bowls out of the way and stared intently at Arthur in the candlelight. Arthur could look back for only a minute; he soon had to deflect his gaze. He felt like he should be ashamed, but he was not sure why.

"So," clipped Gaius after a time. "Are you going to tell me why you are suppressing your magic, or do I have to guess?"

Arthur flinched. The word was finally in the air. Worse, he was not sure for how much longer he could keep up the ruse of being his manservant, not when Merlin had _magic_. Should he just tell Gaius and get it over with? Could Gaius be trusted?

But... maybe this body swap had been Merlin's plan all along? He waited until Arthur became king, honing his strength, so that one day he could steal the regent's body and become himself the king of Camelot. If that were true, it was by luck alone that Merlin had been stolen away when he was. If it were true, it also meant that Gaius was probably Merlin's ally in this endeavor. To tell Gaius would be to tell the enemy that their plan had succeeded.

No, as certainly as before, if for different reasons, he could not tell anyone.

"I just don't want to use it," he muttered at the table. Gaius promptly boxed him in the ears. Shocked, Arthur gaped at the physician.

"Idiot boy!" Gaius cried. "Sometimes I think you're _trying_ to kill yourself!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know as well as I do that your power is too strong to simply stop using it! So tell me, what were you thinking? Did something happen in the ruins? Did Arthur say something?"

Arthur's thoughts whirled. What was Gaius saying? If Merlin didn't use his magic he would _die_? Already he could feel the power rearing inside him, fighting against the sleeping tonic. The terror he felt earlier was nothing compared to now.

He shook his head, dimly thinking about what he could ever say to make Merlin react like this, since that was obviously what Gaius thought had happened. Yes, he always made sure to remind Merlin that magic was evil, but… Surely Merlin did not care what Arthur thought. "Nothing happened."

"'Nothing happened' my foot," Gaius grumbled. He sighed. "There's nothing for it. As soon as you finish eating, you are to go out and purge that energy."

"Purge it?" Arthur asked, wondering how in the world that was done, and how he could do it while still retaining his humanity. "Where?"

"A clearing in the woods, maybe. All I know is that you can't be anywhere near the castle when it is released."

Ridden with guilt, shame, and fear, Arthur nodded. Gaius handed him a bowl of stew and watched Arthur eat it like a hawk. Arthur ate the entire bowl, even though he had no appetite. As soon as he was finished, Gaius pointed at the door, glaring all the while.

"Don't do anything stupid," said the physician. "More than what you've done so far!"

Arthur sneaked out of the castle, heading for the Darkling Woods like Gaius had suggested. The longer he walked, the more the magic tumbled inside of him, drowning out his thoughts and nearly all of his awareness, leaving nothing but two battling urges, to suppress it at all costs and to release it at once.

When he was sufficiently enveloped by the forest, in an area the knights rarely patrolled, he collapsed on an old stump, panting and cradling his head in his hands. Again, the energy was roaring in his ears, and he could see the golden tint creeping into his vision. He was going to have to release it, or, if what Gaius said was right, he would _die_.

The only question now was – _how_? He did not know any spells. He did not know anything about magic. Perhaps he would die anyway, even when he was resigned to using magic, just because he was too ignorant to use it properly.

He wondered if Merlin knew he was going through this now and if he was sitting back, laughing, while he imagined Arthur squirming. He must have known this would happen. He knew he could take over Arthur's body and watch as his old body killed its new host.

He ground his teeth. As though Arthur would _dare_ die before he could settle the score with that traitor. If it meant using magic, so be it. Already Arthur had mastered Excalibur, a magic sword that answered to the true king of Camelot alone. He would figure it out, or he would die trying. Those were his only options.

Growling determinedly, Arthur turned his focus inward to the writhing, roiling fountain of energy. At once it captured his whole attention, his whole being, sucking his consciousness inside itself. His mind was flooded with gold, and the discomfort, the roaring, was replaced by warm, golden light. He could feel it pushing at its bonds, walls that contained it even when the pressure was too great. Rather, the walls were more like a door. One that Arthur could open, if only he reached out… and _pushed_.

Arthur felt a sudden great release, as though after being trapped under water, drowning, he was able to breathe again. He opened his eyes, and they continued to widen in his surprise.

All around him, the clearing had burst into life. Multicolored flowers carpeted the floor, grass shoots and new tree growth poking through the bed of flora. Even the stump he was sitting on had leaves sprouting from it, where one day in the future a new tree would grow. Above all of this, fireflies drifted lazily, sprinkling the clearing with golden lights, the same color as Merlin's magic. The world was vibrant with energy, more alive than anything Arthur had ever encountered. It stole his breath away.

Had he done this?

He was not sure what he had been expecting when he released his magic into the world, especially after Gaius told him to do it far from the castle. He must have imagined a wave of destruction, a circle of fire and charred earth. Anything but this.

The magic continued to pulse at his fingertips. Dazed, Arthur raised a hand into the air and experimentally pushed the energy through it. It trailed from his fingers, a golden haze that briefly formed the shape of a horse, galloped through the air, and dissipated into the night. He gasped softly. It felt… incredible… unlike anything –

That was the allure of magic, was it not? It lulled its users into a sense of security, convincing them that it was good and safe, and then it warped their minds, bending them to its will. He should not use this. He could not.

Except, if he didn't, he would die.

Arthur sighed, or growled, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Damn it, _Mer_lin!" Seriously, when he found that useless sod, he was going to kill him.

He sat on the stump for a long while, listening to the hum of Merlin's magic. It pulsed through his veins, wrapped around his bones, swam beneath his skin. There was no part of him that did not feel infused with magic. Did all sorcerers feel like this? Somehow, this did not seem normal. He had no one he could ask about it, though.

There were many questions he longed to know the answers to, questions he recognized as necessary for his survival. For instance, how did Merlin keep the magic from building up inside of him? What kind of spells could he use without anyone noticing? Did all sorcerers have to use their magic or risk dying, or had Merlin simply delved too deeply into it? How did Merlin possibly get _anything else_ done, when he had to deal all the time with _this_? It was a wonder Merlin was ever on time!

… Merlin probably used magic to do his chores. That lazy bastard.

Arthur straightened. There was no putting it off. He needed to figure this out, now, or risk being executed before he ever had the chance to return to his body. If Merlin of all people could use magic, and had been doing so in secret for years, of course the King of the land should be able to pick it up with little trouble.

The first thing he needed to do was finish purging it from his body. Inhaling deeply, he focused on pulling the energy into his hands and pushing it out in a steady stream, in time with his exhalation. This time, the energy flowed out as though a gust of wind, invisibly gliding through the grass and stirring up the seeds. This time, too, he could feel warmth behind his eyes, and he knew that they were glowing golden.

He pushed outward until at last the magic began to retreat into his breast. It crouched there, not necessarily weak, simply waiting for Arthur to draw on it again. He pushed to his feet and was surprised by how light his limbs felt. He had not felt this good, this refreshed, since he was in his own body. Arthur was also surprised to find that he was still barefoot, wearing nothing more than trousers and a nightshirt. A quick inspection showed him that the scratches on his limbs had faded, and the gash on the side of his head was all but vanished. He wiggled his toes in the grass, aware of his now direct connection to the soil. The energy of the earth cycled through him, mingling with Merlin's magic; each fed off of the other.

Part of Arthur was tempted to remain there through the night, but he knew it was only the magic tempting his mind, bribing him for trust. Furthermore, Gaius would be waiting for him to return. He also knew that he needed to crack open Merlin's spellbook if he had any hope of mastering these powers, and he would probably have little time to do it in the future. With that in mind, he reluctantly returned to the castle.

Gaius was busy bottling tonics when Arthur came back. He did little more than look up, a question in his eyes. Arthur forced himself to smile.

"I'm feeling a lot better, Gaius."

"As you should," Gaius tutted. "Sometimes I don't know what is going through that head of yours."

Arthur shrugged, a noncommittal gesture that Merlin often employed with the king. "I think I'll go to sleep now."

Gaius nodded and waved him away. As Arthur was about to step out of the room, the physician spoke again. "You can talk to me, Merlin."

The displaced king squirmed. "I know… thank you."

Gaius sighed again. "As long as you know, I suppose that's all I can ask. Very well, off to bed."

As soon as Arthur shut the door behind him, he dropped to his knees and removed the floorboard, extracting the heavy tome. He started looking for a flint to light the candle with, but then he thought – maybe he could use magic? It could be his first lesson in harnessing the power.

Arthur placed the book on the bed and stood in front of the candlestick. He held up his right arm, as he had so often seen sorcerers do, and pulled some of the energy into his hand. Remembering the feeling in the meadow, he pushed the magic outward, thinking, _Fire!_

The candlestick flew backward into the wall, and everything on the table clattered into the floor.

"Merlin?" Gaius's voice called from the other room.

"I'm fine!" he yelled back. "I just… tripped?" Arthur waited for a few moments for Gaius to move; when he showed no signs of coming to check on his ward, Arthur righted everything and decided he had better use a flint this time. He managed to find the tools in Merlin's rucksack – because obviously Merlin could not go around lighting all of their campfires with magic – and soon had enough light to read by. He curled up on the bed, pulled the book into his lap, and opened to the first page.

It was all written in the language of the Old Religion. That was discouraging. But when he placed Merlin's long fingers against the text, he could feel dormant power tingling in the words themselves. Squinting, he ran his fingertips over the pages, eyes scrolling over the text, and it was with no small amount of surprise that he found his lips moving, reading along.

He needed to expect to be surprised. He should just assume that nothing would ever make sense again. Because he should not be able to read this language, and yet, here he was.

Curious, he flipped forward a few pages, using the pictures to figure out what each spell was for. He stopped on the first page Merlin had scribbled on, and it happened to be a section on fire spells. On the left page were ornately decorated words followed by paragraphs of description; on the right were pictures of the different kinds of fire magic – flames summoned in the caster's hand, balls of fire, lit torches. At the top of the page, however, Merlin had scrawled _'useless'_ and had circled a single word of the Old Religion: _'forbærnan'_. In the margins he had created another list: _onbærne, byrne, bærne, leohtbora, fyr_. He had scratched through some of the paragraphs, making corrections, circling specific words. There was even a '_yeah, right'_ floating there.

Merlin's cockiness nearly had Arthur smiling. That was, until he remembered how the man had betrayed him and had delved into the evils of magic, behind his back, and was using it to steal the kingdom from under him, perhaps even killing Arthur in the process. He was too depressed to scowl, so he shoved the whole thing from his mind and focused on the task at hand. Magic, how to use it, how to stay alive.

According to the pictures, he should be able to summon a ball of fire into the palm of his hand. Focusing on that and the word Merlin had assigned such a spell, Arthur cautiously pulled energy into his hand. Taking a deep breath, he whispered the word, "_Onbærne!"_

He felt the flash of heat in his eyes, and then a small flame trembled into being, hovering in the air over his palm. Arthur nearly laughed aloud… until he remembered that he had just cast a spell, which of course meant he was actively – not just accidentally – participating in sorcery. Breaking the laws of his own kingdom.

He shook his head. "It's a means to an end. That's all it is."

Still… he had just made fire! From nothing! Slowly, he continued to feed it energy, watching it grow until it stood half a foot high in the air, dancing from side to side in the draft. Merlin's magic, in turn, seemed eager to be given direction; it felt _good_ to use it.

With that thought, he promptly cut off the energy, squashing the flame. His heart pounded in his chest. He was already losing himself. He needed to be more careful.

Arthur thought back to how many times in battle the adrenaline had rushed to his head, fueling a bloodlust that longed to be quenched on the life force of the enemy. If he did not check the monster then, in every battle, he would have become a cold-blooded murderer. Surely he could execute the same self-control now.

Nodding, satisfied with the fire spell, he turned to the next page Merlin had obviously given attention. It seemed to be a page on locking and unlocking doors. Merlin had given this section the same treatment as the last, circling his favorite words and crossing out others he did not agree with. One particular word, _tospringe_, he had circled and beside it written, 'not good for unlocking'. Instead, for 'stealthy', Merlin had collected spells like _aliese, onlucan_, and inversely, _behæpse fæst_ for locking, underlining _fæst _several times.

From where he sat, Arthur tested out _behæpse fæst_, followed by _onlucan_, both of which responded easily enough and did not require an extended amount of energy, meaning Arthur did not risk being mesmerized by them. He tried not to think of why Merlin seemed so interested in spells to unlock doors, and he tried not to think of all that was stored in the vaults behind a simple padlock. Then, because he was curious, he locked the door again and muttered, "_Tospringe_" at it. The spell did nothing, so he fed a bit more energy into his next attempt. When it still did not work, he pushed magic freely out toward the door and tried one more time.

He was not expecting the door to fly off its hinges and clatter down the stairs. So _that's_ what Merlin meant. He couldn't have been any clearer?

A frazzled-looking Gaius, dressed in his nightgown and hair ruffled by sleep, appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Merlin!"

Arthur stared between the book and the destroyed door, and he gulped. "Oops?"

"How many times do I have to tell you to go to sleep!" the physician complained. "First thing tomorrow morning, you will fix this door. In the meantime, put your book away and go to bed!"

The displaced king nodded, having no desire to argue with Gaius, who again proved to be the only man in the kingdom able to order its regent about. He quickly replaced the book in its hiding spot, stripped down to his nightshirt, blew out the candle, and covered himself with his blanket. He heard Gaius huff, apparently satisfied, and he heard the physician's bed groan when he lay back down.

He had a difficult time falling to sleep, even under the blanket. When he closed his eyes, he saw nothing but flames, golden horses, and blue orbs of light. Merlin's magic buzzed deep within him, and far below, so did the earth.

* * *

_**A/N: Hello, mina-san! Thank you for your reviews, alerts, and continuing support! I'm sorry I wasn't able to respond to everyone's review individually this week - I was extraordinarily busy. If not for this chapter being written beforehand (during a week-long snow-in, which I spent doing nothing but writing fanfiction and drinking hot tea), it should not have gone up today.**_

_**I hope my theory of Merlin's magic is coming across. If something doesn't seem plausible or doesn't make sense (because Arthur doesn't quite understand it either), let me know and I will attempt to justify my choices. All of the spells here are from the Merlin Wikia, but I may make up my own in the future. That's one of the reasons I took Old English at university, actually - because of Merlin. I would blush and say how nerdy I am, but I'm almost certain my professor learned Old English because of how big a Tolkien fan he is... and I learned he once played D&D. Heck, who am I kidding? We're all nerds there.**_

_**Small preview of next chapter: Gaius is suspicious, Gwaine comes back into play (you'll see I listed him as one of the main characters of this story - that was on purpose), and the plot finally gets fleshed out!**_

_**Next update: somewhere between Thurs. Feb. 27 and Sat. March 1. **_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Trololol... I was too excited to wait, so here is the next chapter - two in one day! More info on updates at the bottom. **_

* * *

The next morning at dawn, Arthur promptly propped up the bedroom door and dressed himself as Merlin would – brown trousers, a blue shirt, a red neckerchief, and that ratty brown jacket. He pulled on socks and Merlin's worn leather boots. Rocking on the balls of his feet, the magic already awake and alive inside of him, Arthur decided he felt very Merlin-ish today. At least in the physical sense. It was good news, perhaps, for his mounting number of secrets.

He met Gaius downstairs, who glared at the broken door before greeting him with a rough, "Good morning." He was carrying two bowls of porridge, which he placed on the table they had eaten at last night. Arthur's stomach growled in response, and he eagerly sat to breakfast.

He was eager, that is, until he tasted the porridge. It was all he could do not to gag. How could any man alive _eat_ this? He looked around, as though more food might appear. When it did not, Arthur resigned to the bland, soupy mush, hoping his expression did not reveal any of his disgust. He missed his own meals, even if Merlin never brought him quite what he wanted.

Gaius joined him at the table, eyes running up and down his body. "You look like you feel better."

"Maybe because I do," Arthur responded, then paused, hoping that was not too cheeky. Just how did Merlin speak to his mentor in private? With respect? With the same brutality with which he always treated his king?

Gaius merely pursed his lips and dipped into the porridge. "I'll let Gwen know you're well enough to give your account, then. She's been pestering me since you were brought back."

Arthur nodded. To Guinevere, it must have seemed like her husband was the one who was missing. She would be frantic.

"I could have spoken to her yesterday," Arthur muttered.

"You were obviously delirious yesterday. Who knows what you might have said?"

So that was it. Gaius was afraid that 'Merlin', in his sickness, might have let slip something incriminating. Arthur just shrugged and busied his mouth with the porridge. When he had finished, Gaius told him to wash his face and shave, or had he forgotten they were to meet with the council?

There was a basin in the corner that Arthur remembered using during his stays in the physician's chambers, in his boyhood when he refused to be treated in the Prince's quarters (mostly because he enjoyed Gaius's company), before his father put his foot down and refused to let Arthur continue being examined like a commoner. It looked the same as it had back then, just as old. Setting aside his jacket and neckerchief, he filled the basin with water, splashed some over his face and hair, and looked up into the small, mottled looking-glass.

Merlin's bright blue eyes stared back. His wet, ink-black hair stood at strange angles, and on his chin was a rough spread of stubble. He ran a bony hand from one sharp cheekbone down the side of his face, watching Merlin's reflection do the same in the mirror. Then, he cupped one hand at the side of his body – out of Gaius's sight – and whispered, "_Onbærne_." He felt the spark of heat in his palm, and in the mirror, Merlin's eyes flashed gold, filling and fading in the span of a second. Arthur shivered at the sight and quickly extinguished the flame.

He shaved, clumsily, the unfamiliar curves of this face and patted down his already drying hair. Then, in an effort to look more _Merlin_ and less like the emotionally- and morally-burdened knight he was, he smoothed his face – seeing 'calculating, closed-off Merlin' – and then grinned to produce 'goofy, still closed-off Merlin'. He cycled through a number of Merlin's expressions, like the 'innocent, I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about' face and the scowl Merlin used every time Arthur assigned him more chores. These were all masks, though, expressions he showed to Arthur. What did the _real_ Merlin look like?

But it was getting easier. Now that he knew Merlin was hiding magic, his unreadable manservant, whom Arthur had so often mistook for a fool, was becoming understandable. He now saw his manservant for the careful, secretive, conspiring liar that he was.

He donned the jacket and scarf again, and Gaius informed him he had sent a message to Guinevere through the guards. Shortly, a guard returned to summon them both to the small council chamber.

When they entered, Guinevere swept Arthur into a tight embrace. "Oh Merlin!" she breathed. Filled with heat and confusion, Arthur could only lightly pat his wife's back. She released him, took him by his shoulders, and looked into his eyes, searching. Arthur noticed that her eyes were lined with fatigue, and her face was pale. "I'm so glad you're alright." Behind the queen, three members of the small council were looking on with understanding – if mixed with slight disapproval – at Guinevere's open affections toward a servant.

"H-how are you, Guinevere?" he mumbled. His chest was tight. If only he could tell her, he could end her suffering right now!

Her face crumpled, and she bit her lip. Her eyes darted to the side. "I'm… Oh, Merlin. I'm so worried."

He nodded, unable to look at her any longer. "I don't know how much my information will help."

She shook her head and smiled in encouragement. "No, no, you're the only one who saw the men who took Arthur. I'm sure whatever leads you can give us will be a tremendous help. We can at least give Sir Leon and his men faces to search for."

Guinevere returned to the council table, taking Arthur's usual seat in the ornate chair at its head. She gestured for him to sit at the other end. Gaius stood encouragingly at his shoulder, while the three present council members – including Lord Geoffrey of Monmouth, Lord Cyrus of Lancaster, and Lord Bale of Westmorland – all stared at him in anticipation. Arthur cleared his throat, raised his head, and spoke with the confidence that had been ingrained in him since his boyhood:

"It happened when M – when Arthur and I were investigating the ruins. Part of the floor caved in, trapping us in a lower chamber. That's where the sorcerers found us the next day. They blasted us into the wall and tied us up before moving us outside. They knocked Arthur out using magic, and they beat me before taking Arthur into the woods, leaving me with the note I gave Sir Leon. There were four of them, three men and a woman with short red hair. The men all had dark beards and overgrown hair – one was wearing an eye patch, and another had a scar stretching down the right side of his face. Other than that, they were not especially notable. They had cloaked themselves; I couldn't see any tattoos or other markings."

"Is that it?" Guinevere prompted. "Did they say anything?"

Arthur frowned, concentrating. "Only that it was a trap." He grimaced. "One we walked right into. They knew we would come if we heard rumors of a group of sorcerers. I don't know if that means our informant was working for them or if they merely acted suspiciously enough that they would be reported. Then, there's the note. We know they're working for someone, someone who can offer them something more valuable than gold in exchange for Arthur."

Guinevere nodded, frowning. "Yes. We've been waiting for the ransom… It would at least tell us who has him."

"Something else," Arthur continued. "I can't be certain, but… they said he had a price on his head. That could mean that they weren't the only ones looking for Arthur. Perhaps if we captured other mercenaries – especially sorcerers – we could find out who set the bounty."

The queen smiled, moisture filling her eyes. "That's an excellent idea, Merlin. You see, of course your information is helpful." The other councilmen nodded their approval, and Arthur felt Gaius squeeze his shoulder.

Arthur admitted there was nothing else he could remember about the abduction, at which point Guinevere thanked him, all but dismissing him from the room. His heart sank, low at both the fact that he could not be open with his wife and that he would likely not see her again for a long while.

Steeped in melancholy, he followed Gaius back to the physician's chambers. Halfway there, Gaius paused, seemingly at random, and approached a window overlooking the central courtyard. Arthur came up beside him, searching for whatever had caught the old man's attention.

"Since when have you called Her Majesty 'Guinevere'?"

Arthur blinked. It took a second for him to realize his mistake. Arthur was the only person in this kingdom who referred to Guinevere as just that – Guinevere. People who were not her friends called her 'Majesty' and 'Highness', while those who were close to her in her days as a handmaiden – people like Gaius and Merlin – still called her affectionately by her nickname, 'Gwen'.

Gaius went on, gaze fixed outside the window. "Twice you've called her that since you woke up in my chambers yesterday. And you've been acting strangely in other ways since then. Would you care to explain, or should I continue seeking answers blindly?"

Arthur's blood ran cold, and his feet itched to run away. He could feel the magic twitching inside him in response to his fear, and he quickly reined it in. In the end, he said nothing.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with those runes, would it?"

Finally – "Don't be ridiculous, Gaius. I'm fine."

"I'm curious about something else. A point in your story that did not make sense to me. I understand if you could not be entirely frank in front of the council, but I was hoping you could explain it now."

"I didn't lie to them. That's what happened."

"Then, according to your story, they knocked Arthur out using magic _before_ attacking you. I am only curious why you did not use your magic to fight back, since you would not have risked exposing your secret. You should have been more than capable of saving both Arthur and yourself. So, why didn't you? Or should I say, why couldn't you?"

Arthur was stumped. Gaius continued. "And then yesterday, you suppressed your magic to the point of suffocation, only to have it misfire when you were practicing last night."

"Wouldn't it be better to have this conversation somewhere a little more private?" Arthur hissed.

The physician shrugged and continued walking toward his chambers. "As you wish."

Arthur stood, rooted to the flagstones, wondering if he should follow the old man who was quickly unraveling his ruse. In the end, he decided that short of shouting, "I'm Arthur Pendragon!", there was nothing more incriminating than running away. He would have to try to lie his way out of this or at least act so Merlin-ishly stubborn that Gaius gave up.

While they walked back, Arthur trailing helplessly a few feet behind the physician, he thought about what Gaius had said, about Merlin being more than capable of defeating all _four_ sorcerers and saving the both of them. That, combined with the fact that Merlin's power was apparently "too strong to simply stop using", truly made Arthur wonder about the scale of Merlin's magic. Could it be that Merlin – _Merlin_ – was not only a secret sorcerer at the heart of Camelot, but a bloody good one as well?

The magic in his breast thrummed, as though in answer.

Just what had his manservant gotten himself into?

Too soon, they arrived at Gaius's chambers, and Arthur was led into seclusion with the too-perceptive physician. He hovered around the door, just in case he needed to bolt. Gaius, half-way across the room, turned to Arthur, crossed his arms, and raised a threatening brow that said clearly, _You had best not lie to me, boy_.

"Well, Merlin?"

Arthur averted his eyes. "I have nothing to explain. I'm _fine_."

"Then I'm sure you wouldn't mind demonstrating your magic right now and proving to me how 'fine' it is."

Arthur glared at the man. He raised his right hand, pronounced, "_Onbærne_," and produced a small flame. He raised his eyes challengingly to Gaius before snuffing it out. "See. Fine."

Gaius narrowed his eyes. "I'm afraid I'm not entirely convinced. Would you care to do a more complicated enchantment? Just to set my mind at ease, you understand."

Arthur felt like his blood had curdled. The only other spells he had been able to look at last night were the ones to lock and unlock doors, and he could not even remember the words for them. He lowered his hand and chose to fight this battle with words of a different sort. "I don't understand why I have to prove anything to you."

"Because, Merlin, the fate of this kingdom may very well rest on your shoulders, and I'm not about to let you search for Arthur without full control of your magic!"

"The fa… the _fate_ of the kingdom?" Arthur said, laughing in his disbelief. "Be serious, Gaius. What could I possibly do?"

Judging by Gaius's dumbstruck expression, that was clearly the wrong thing for Merlin to have said. The physician's eyes widened, and they trailed again up and down Arthur's body. Arthur warily stared back.

"If only I could see the runes," Gaius mumbled. "I might know what enchantment you're under."

He was right on the mark. "I'm not under any enchantments!" Arthur protested.

"Then tell me, Merlin, do you even remember your destiny?"

"D-destiny?"

"Your _commitment_? To _Arthur_?"

This was sliding downhill, tumbling out of Arthur's grasp. He had no idea what Gaius was talking about. "Just his manservant," he muttered. "Right?"

Gaius had the need to grasp the edge of his potions bench to keep from fainting. Lowering himself onto the seat, he shook his head, darkness clouding his expression. "This is much worse than I thought."

Arthur simply stared. The words Gaius had spoken whirled around his head: destiny, the fate of the kingdom, a commitment to him! Not to mention the fact that Merlin seemed to be a very powerful sorcerer, making his home in the heart of Camelot, magic's greatest enemy. Just who was his manservant? And just how was he supposed to explain this away?

His shoulders fell, weighted by resignation. There was no way he could keep this up. "Gaius," he said, taking a step toward the man. "You're right, there was an enchantment." Cautiously, he sat down next to Gaius, who was just as cautiously watching him. He clasped his hands on the bench, hung his head, and admitted, "The reason I don't know about any of these things is because I'm not Merlin."

Gaius inhaled sharply. "Then who are you?"

"I'm…" He closed his eyes. "Arthur."

Gaius said nothing. Arthur opened his eyes and looked to the physician, to find Gaius drained of color and gaping. Seeing Arthur's eyes on him, he closed his mouth and swallowed several times. "And where," he rasped, "is Merlin?"

"In my body. Wherever that is. You understand why I could not tell you, Gaius. I wasn't sure who I could trust, not after…" He trailed off, eyes falling to his – Merlin's – hands.

"Not after learning about his magic," Gaius nodded. He sighed, wiped a hand over his face, and said, "I'm getting too old for this." After shaking his head in some fair amount of exasperation, he returned his attention to Arthur. His words were immediately more guarded than they had been. "… Merlin thinks this happened because of the runes in that chamber?"

Arthur pursed his lips. "I'm not sure what Merlin thinks. We didn't exactly have a chance to talk about this before he was captured. _I _think it happened because of those runes. He was messing with them after we fell into the chamber. Staring at them. _Touching_ them."

"Idiot boy," Gaius cursed.

"My thoughts exactly," Arthur agreed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why must he insist on _touching_ everything?"

"Because he has a nose for trouble without the good sense to avoid it," Gaius grumbled. He froze, and his eyes travelled again to Arthur. "If I may, sire… you are handling this well."

"Right," Arthur scoffed. "I spent enough time panicking yesterday, and no good came of it. Of course," he continued, tone dark, "I have several words to speak to Merlin once I find him."

"Of course, sire. I am sure you have many questions for him."

Arthur's gaze flitted to the physician, measuring him, assessing his trustworthiness. "Perhaps you could answer some of them for me."

The brow rose. "…Perhaps."

"Then," Arthur turned around, leaned his elbows against the potions bench, and crossed his legs. He waved for Gaius to 'go ahead'. "By all means."

The old man squirmed. "My lord, what do you wish to know?"

"First, how long has Merlin been practicing sorcery?"

"His entire life, sire. He is what those well-versed in the language of magic call a 'warlock', a person born with the gift."

Now Arthur's jaw dropped, and Merlin's magic playfully lapped at his mind. "Is such a thing possible?" He had always been told that people chose to learn magic, for various unsavory reasons. The idea that a person could be _born_ with magic and not choose it at all… it went against everything Arthur knew.

"It is very rare, sire. In fact, Merlin is the only warlock I know of. Then again, Merlin is special for a number of reasons." Here, Gaius hesitated, only continuing when Arthur prompted him with an impatient brow. "You must understand, the prophecies speak of Merlin as the most powerful sorcerer who will ever live."

Arthur felt weak. He nearly lost his balance on the bench and quickly uncrossed his legs. "Merlin… _Merlin_ is? This," he gestured at himself, "Merlin?" The magic again swirled within him, and it occurred to Arthur that the power he wielded at this moment, if he were to believe Gaius, might be the strongest any person could ever have. It made him light-headed. No wonder the magic had to be periodically released. "And what prophecies? What was this about his destiny? His commitment to me?"

Gaius nodded, somber. "You might as well know the truth. The prophecies speak of two men, often described as 'two sides of the same coin', destined to unite all of the lands of Albion in a time of peace never before seen. They are known as the Once and Future King and his guardian, Emrys."

Arthur frowned. "I know those names…" 'Once and Future King' – Merlin had called him that on a number of occasions, though Arthur had never known what it meant. As for 'Emrys'… unless he was mistaken, it was _Morgana_ who had spoken that name.

"I'm not surprised you've heard them. Of course, the Once and Future King refers to you, Arthur, while Emrys is-"

"Merlin," the king finished. "You said Emrys is supposed to be the Once and Future King's guardian?"

"Yes, and Merlin does his best. I dare say it is thanks to him that you are still alive after all of these years. He has saved your life on a number of occasions, a few you know of and dozens more that you do not."

"It's his… destiny."

"Yes, sire."

"And mine is to-"

"Become the greatest king this land has ever known. Yes, sire."

Arthur burst out laughing. "But that's ridiculous! I'm not… he's not… we're just…!"

"Merlin did not want to believe it either, not at first," Gaius said, smiling fondly. "He claimed he was 'just Merlin' and that you were 'too much of a prat'. Again, his words, not mine."

Just then, there was a sharp knock at the door, and a guard ducked his head inside. "You've been summoned to the throne room."

"Of course," Gaius responded. He exchanged a look with Arthur and said, "Come on, Merlin."

Arthur immediately fell back into his role as the physician's ward and Arthur's manservant. "Yes, Gaius." Together, they hurried to the throne room.

They were just in time to see Guinevere receiving several severely weather-beaten Knights of the Round Table. Gaius hurried to his place at the side of the chamber, Arthur following suit. Gwaine, favoring one leg, for the other was tightly wrapped with a strip of his shirt, caught Arthur's eye and smiled grimly at him.

Seeing Gaius and Arthur enter, Guinevere gave the sign that Leon should continue. He knelt before her, then stood to hand her a ragged, blood-stained note. Arthur recognized it at once for the ransom.

Guinevere quickly scanned the parchment. She swallowed, and her fearful eyes flitted to Leon's. "And where is the messenger?"

"Right here," Gwaine drawled, patting his injured thigh. "Tied to an arrow. Sorry about the blood, Highness."

The queen's face blanched. She swallowed again and addressed the gathered men. "It's a message from Alined. He is currently holding Arthur in his dungeons and plans to hand him over t-to Morgana."

Arthur shuddered. If Merlin was given to Morgana he would surely die... and Arthur would never get his body back.

Guinevere continued. "Morgana has agreed to give Alined a fourth of Camelot's lands. However, Alined does not believe that Morgana will ever hold the citadel, and he would 'rather have a tangible, not simply a promised, bounty'. Therefore, he is requesting, from us, half of Camelot's territory in exchange for Arthur, in addition to five thousand gold pieces, to be handed over in a formal treaty. We have one week to communicate our decision. If we refuse the bounty, or fail to make our decision in time, the price is… Arthur's head." Her voice broke, and two tears ran over her lovely cheeks. She bit her lip and looked away.

Luckily, Arthur was now in her line of sight. He frantically shook his head. For no price could Camelot be sold and partitioned, especially not for such an outrageous one as that. If they acquiesced to Alined's demands, any kingdom, including Morgana's army, would feel confident in moving in and finishing off the weakened kingdom. Even with Merlin's life at stake, there was no way Guinevere could ever agree to these demands.

Guinevere frowned at Arthur. But he did not let that bother him. He was 'Merlin' right now, and he trusted that Merlin would never surrender Camelot, not even for Arthur, whether it was because he was loyal to Arthur or because he wanted to rule the land himself. Nor would his manservant be afraid to let everyone else know.

Luckily, Gaius – an actual member of the council – picked up Arthur's train of thought. "Of course we cannot give in to these demands."

Guinevere's attention was restored. She wiped her tears on the back of her hand. "Never. There must be another way. Now that we know he is in Alined's kingdom, we can send a rescue mission."

Leon hesitated. "I'm… afraid that isn't possible, Your Highness. Maybe a single rider could reach Alined's castle in a week, but even the smallest band of knights would be too late."

"And we cannot be sure that is even where Arthur is being held," Gaius said. "Alined chose this date carefully. He is forcing us to make our decision immediately, knowing that we only have enough time to send our messenger, and only if we send him now."

"Then again," said Geoffrey, voice wavering with age, "we also know Alined will not be the one to kill His Royal Majesty. If we refuse his demands, he will make the deal with Morgana."

"Either way, Arthur dies," Gwaine grumbled.

"Perhaps," said the queen, "we could rescue him during the transaction. If we use our time to find Arthur's whereabouts, we can intercept him when Alined passes him to Morgana."

"How do we know that Alined will not just send Morgana the king's head?" said Bale, twisting his mustache.

Arthur was tempted to say, _Because Morgana wants to kill me herself_, but Gaius beat him to it: "Do you really think Morgana would accept anything less than killing Arthur with her own hands?"

"We would only have one shot at this," said the Lord of Lancaster. "If we fail, then we will have lost His Majesty forever."

"I see no other way about it," said Guinevere. "Can any of you suggest a better plan?" When the hall was silent, she began giving orders. "Leon, speak to the master of our spies and see what you can learn about where Arthur may be being kept. Then, send out your most trustworthy men to perform reconnaissance. I want them moving before the day is out. We cannot waste any time. Leon, I want you standing by at Camelot's border with the team who will perform the rescue and several messengers to relay information to the citadel. I will trust your judgment. Gaius, treat Gwaine's leg."

Gaius inclined his head. "Your Majesty." He indicated that Arthur should help Gwaine from the room; Arthur trotted up to the knight, looped one of Gwaine's arms over his shoulder, and steered him after the departing Gaius. He tried not to feel disappointed at missing the remainder of the council meeting or at having to leave his wife again.

"You don't have to carry me, Merlin," Gwaine protested once they were in the corridor. "I'm perfectly fine."

"Yes, that's why you're limping."

"I just need some mead to dull the pain."

"What you _need_," Gaius said, "is some medicine to prevent infection."

In the physician's chambers, Arthur helped lay Gwaine on the spare bed. He stood by as Gaius unwrapped the blood-stiff, makeshift bandage and tutted at the wound. He ordered Arthur to clean it while he retrieved a poultice and fresh bandages. Arthur wondered if he had forgotten he was not Merlin, or if Gaius did not care. Not entirely sure what he was doing, Arthur wet a cloth and gently dabbed at the injury.

"What can you do for me, Gaius, so I can be riding out with Leon's men this evening?"

"I'm afraid you won't be riding anywhere, Sir Gwaine, not for a few days. The wound is deep."

Gwaine slammed a fist down on the table next to the bed. "Leon needs every able-bodied man at his side! Arthur's life depends on it!"

"I'm sorry, Gwaine, but you are not an able-bodied man. If you rode out like this, you would be more of a hindrance than a help." Gaius brushed Arthur aside and finished cleaning the wound, using much stronger, more painful-looking movements than Arthur. Sure enough, the treatment made Gwaine wince. After that, he slathered some of the poultice – a strong-smelling, light-green paste – over the wound, layered it with leaves, and wrapped Gwaine's leg in a fresh bandage. Gwaine, meanwhile, glared into the corner, reminding Arthur very much of a petulant child.

As much as Arthur appreciated Gwaine's willingness to protect his life, he had to agree with Gaius – the man was in no shape to ride.

"Drink this," Gaius ordered and handed Gwaine a tonic.

"What is it?"

"Medicine. Now do as I say, or do you want your leg to fall off?" After Gwaine downed the potion, Gaius said, "It's a sleeping tonic, by the way. To make sure you _rest_ and don't try to leave here at the first opportunity."

Gwaine choked and tried to spit the tonic out, but it was too late. "Gaius," he whined. Already his voice was slurring. In no time at all, the knight's head fell onto the pillow, mouth hanging open. He began to snore.

"Now," Gaius said. He wiped his hands on a damp cloth, then turned to Arthur. "What are we going to do about Merlin?"

Arthur frowned. "What do you mean? Leon is leaving tonight to rescue him."

Gaius looked dubious. "Be that as it may, we do not know what manner of sorcerers his knights will be facing. They may go up against Morgana herself, in which case, they will have no means of defending themselves. Sire, the only way to defeat magic is with magic. Merlin knows this well."

"Are you saying they have no chance at success?"

"Without powerful magic on their side? Yes."

Arthur ground his teeth. "My men and I have bested sorcerers in the past."

"With Merlin protecting you from the shadows."

Merlin did always seem to hide behind bushes and trees whenever Arthur and his knights went into battle. Arthur had assumed Merlin was cowering, weak and unprotected, and had given it little more thought than that. The idea that Merlin was actually working in the background, casting magic to fight their battles… stung his pride. He threw his hands up in the air. "Then why bother! The mission is doomed to fail, Merlin will die, and I'll be stuck like this forever."

"Sire, you forget, we still have powerful magic on our side. The magic that _you_ now wield."

"I- I can't use _magic_! I'm the king! It's against our laws. It's dangerous. It's _evil_."

"That has not stopped you so far."

Arthur glowered. "That was different. It was necessary. You said I would die if I did not."

"And now _Merlin_ will die if you choose not to wield his powers, and I imagine many of your men will join him." Arthur was silent; Gaius softened his tone. "Sire, magic is no more evil than the men who use it, the same as any mortal blade. It can cause destruction, but it can also be used for good."

"I…" He clenched and unclenched his hands, aware of the magic pooling in them, longing to be released. He wanted to say that he trusted Leon to do the job and bring Merlin home. It was what he would have said if he were still the king of Camelot, oblivious to this shadow world harbored in his kingdom.

But, they only had one shot at this. He could trust Gaius and ensure through any means necessary that his men achieved victory, or he could believe Gaius was lying – had been lying about everything – and risk Leon and the knights falling at the hands of sorcerers. The first option guaranteed victory, albeit at the risk of losing himself.

They only had one shot.

"I do not know how to use it."

The old man's lips twitched upward. "I will tell you a secret. Not all magic requires the words of the Old Religion. The words simply channel magic into specific tasks. Much of Merlin's magic actually relies on instinct. Pulling and pushing objects, even freezing time."

Arthur recalled how he had blasted the contents of the table into the wall the night before and had no hard time believing that.

"Then you're saying I won't have any need to learn magic?"

"You won't have as _much_ need."

Arthur began to pace around the room, fingers clutched in his hair. "What should I do, then, Gaius?"

"I suggest you leave tonight, by a different route than Leon's. Take Merlin's book with you and study it when you can. Try to find Merlin before the knights do, but if you cannot, make sure their rescue mission succeeds. Whatever happens, you _must not_ be seen. You risk exposing Merlin's magic and jeopardizing not only your life and Merlin's, but the lives of everyone in this kingdom. Camelot is counting on you."

"So there isn't any pressure," Arthur said, laughing weakly.

"If you are reunited with Merlin, it may be that returning to the rune-stones will be the only way to reverse the enchantment. However, finding Merlin and making it back to Camelot alive should be your priority."

"Of course. I'll, uh, start packing then."

As Arthur made to leave the room, Gaius grabbed his arm. His eyes when he looked at Arthur contained no authority or severity, only desperation. "Please, sire. Bring my ward home safely."

Arthur placed his hand atop Gaius's. "I will. I swear it."

* * *

_**A/N: So, because I posted this early and do not have the next chapter written yet, it means I do not have another to post next weekend. My other story "No More Room" is the next due for a chapter, so "Se edhwierft" will only be updated after NMR. Please be patient with me - I've got some good stuff in store. ;)**_

**_Next time: Arthur faces some unexpected difficulties in leaving Camelot._**


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